FORTY - LEXIE

Lexie Damian was a good guy. He reminded me of the boys I’d dated in high school and college—nice, dependable, a little older than me. Thirty-one felt like a big age gap before last night. Before I lost my virginity to a forty-year-old. But now, he seemed too young. Too serious. Every kind gesture he made—holding the door, carrying my lunch tray—only reminded me of Ryder’s brusque, raw energy. The way he was harsh in public but tender underneath, a side of him only I had seen. Still, I asked Damian if he wanted to grab a drink after work. I felt guilty. Here I was, sitting across from one of the nicest men in LA, and I was using him. But it was working. I saw Ryder freeze when he spotted us in the cafeteria. Later, when we locked eyes through his office glass, his gaze was like a burning accusation. He was jealous. And jealousy meant he cared. When Damian came to get me after work, his smile faltered when he noticed Ryder still sitting at his desk, watching us. I didn’t dare turn to lo